


A Fine Mess

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 19:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: Sometimes sweaty and mussed isexactlywhat one's looking for.





	A Fine Mess

**Author's Note:**

> It's in the name of SCIENCE! :)

Running.

Squash.

Five-a-side.

It hardly mattered to her which it was. She was a firm believer in the existence of human pheromones, hormone-based physical attractants, and she often wondered if they'd first met in a gym rather than at her mother's dreadful New Year's party that they might not have gone on to shag that very night.

Never was this belief more obvious than tonight, when he came over as promised for dinner. It was not post-work, however; it was post-jog.

She greeted him at the door, and from the moment she came within arm's length of him something washed over her that felt very much like unbridled lust. "Hi," she said throatily; even her voice had dropped in register. She snaked her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers through his damp hair and placed her mouth over his for a kiss that left no question to her intention. He dropped the bag he'd brought in as his hands came up to her back.

"Bridget," he whispered the moment she broke for air. "I need to wash up."

"I beg to differ." Her hands raced over his shoulders and over his chest, the cotton of his tee-shirt soaked from his efforts, until her fingers found the elasticised waist of his trackie bottoms. There was something to be said for clothing of this variety; while not the most attractive he could wear, they—unlike his usual business attire consisting of suits, ties, belts, trousers and similar—could be expediently cast aside. She heard him moan a little as her thumbs hooked into the waist and began pulling them down.

"I'm barely in your door, darling," he said, definitely distracted by the feel of her fingers. "What are you going to do, throw me down on the stairs and have your way with me?"

"Excellent idea," she said, her hands diving down beneath the waistband to rake her nails over his backside.

"Bridget," he said again raggedly, reaching around to find her wrists to still her. "Come now."

She wrenched them away from his grasp and said impishly, "Thought you'd never ask." This time when she kissed him he didn't object, though they did make their way up the stairs and to the sofa. She pulled off his shirt and pushed down the trackie bottoms before shimmying out of her own bottoms and blouse.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked, barely intelligible as she straddled his lap.

"Pheromones, Mark, can't be helped," she murmured, pressing herself up against him, teasing his lips with hers, teasing him with her fingers.

Between grunts he said, "Pheromones? That's bollocks."

"I'll show you bollocks," she said, then did something nigh on torturous to his own. He groaned and said no more. Bringing her lips to his once more she kissed him slowly and thoroughly; with each leisurely draw of his lower lip between her teeth she felt him involuntarily arch upwards. She did not stop the attention to his person, either, and, fully satisfied with the state of affairs, she shifted and lowered herself down. At first she moved slowly, rhythmically, low sounds burbling in her throat as well as in his own. His hands gripped her hips, his fingers pressed hard into her skin, pulling her down with each thrust up. She leaned forward against him, her elbows on the back of the sofa, her fingers entwined and tugging in his hair; as she edged closer and closer to climax, she expressed how good it felt if not precisely with words then with enthusiastic vocalisations. He came as he always did with a reflexive shudder and a strangled cry deep in his throat, raising his chin to the sky before grazing gentle teeth over the sweat-dampened skin just below her ear.

She took great gulps of breath as she tossed her head back, then made a very satisfied sound as she felt his lips on her collarbone, his hands cupping her breasts. She leaned forward again, smiling as her eyes met his slightly unfocused ones. "Still think it's bollocks?"

"Need more evidence," he said gruffly, running his thumbs over the lacy fabric covering her nipples. "Need to gather statistics on the number of times you pounce me at the door directly after work versus directly after a run."

"Or a game of football," she said, leaning forward to kiss him then draw his lower lip through her teeth. "Or squash."

"Mmm," he assented, his hands tracing lazily up and down her back. "Yes. Will need much more data on this matter in order to draw an accurate conclusion."

She chuckled. "I'd be awfully pleased to oblige," she purred. She pressed her cheek against his temple, burying her nose in his short tousled curls and drawing in a long, deep breath. She didn't need data points or assembled charts to know what she felt when she was near him, that logic-defying attraction that made her want him more than anything else in the world, particularly when he was sweaty and dishevelled.

"Could _really_ use a wash up now," he said, his breath very warm as it skated over her ear.

She couldn't help chuckling. "It's all right to be a little mussed once in a while."

He pushed himself to sit a little more upright, then put his arms around her waist. "I suppose you're right, given these circumstances," he murmured, then leaned and pecked a kiss on her lips. "But we can't well pop out for supper like this."

"I vote we eat in," she said.

"How about a compromise, then? We order delivery, and while we wait for it, we shower."

"You're obsessed," she said. "There is nothing wrong with working up a bit of a sweat after working up a bit of a sweat."

"I'm also ravenous," he said, "and _that_ on top of having a run has just about done me in."

"Fine, fair," she said, slowly pulling herself up and away from him. "Can't have you passing out from low blood sugar."

"You're too kind." He stood, tugging up his bottoms. She laughed. "What?"

"You're going in the shower," she said. "Why bother pulling them on?"

"I need to phone our order."

She laughed even louder. "Oh, Mark, they can't see you, you know."

He pursed his lips. "Of course I know," he said. "It doesn't feel decent. Plus, the mobile's in my pocket."

She came up to him and embraced him, standing there in only her bra and nothing more, running her fingers along the bare skin on the small of his back as he dialled them spoke to the takeaway restaurant. She could tell it was distracting him, and she smirked in her victory.

He pressed the button to disconnect, then looked to her with piercing brown eyes. "That wasn't very nice," he said, giving her a playful tap on the arse.

"Oh, I know," she said. "But you like that about me."

"Hm," he said. "I suppose you have a point." He stuffed the mobile back in his trackie bottom pocket, then reached around to unhook the clasp on her bra. "Care to join me?"

"Wild horses, Mark," she said. "Wild horses."

After turning on the water, they climbed into her bathtub and drew the curtain closed. He then sighed as she pulled the lever to direct the water through the shower. "Forgot about that."

'That' of course was the fact that her showerhead was so low that getting his hair wet and washed could not be done in a graceful manner. 

"Sorry," she said. "I'll help you wash."

"I was counting on that," he said with a grin, placing his hands upon her cheeks. As his smile faded he bent and kissed her, the hot water streaming over their bodies. He leaned and grabbed the bar of soap, lathered it up and handed it to her before he slid his sudsy hands over her shoulders, breasts and stomach. She then ran the bar of soap over his chest. He plucked it out of her hands and as he bent to kiss her again he put it back in the soap dish then slipped his arms around her waist, bringing their lathered chests together. She laughed lightly into his mouth. "Is this me helping you wash?" she asked huskily.

"Whatever works," he replied.

Also not graceful was making love in her shower, which had to be done against the only wall adjacent to the bath whilst not sliding and landing in a pile on the floor, in or out of the tub, with or without the shower curtain entangling them; it hadn't ever happened but it was always a genuine concern. She felt the wall at her back, his soapy hands working over her hip and arse before hooking one knee up just enough to accommodate the desired connection. As he drove up into her she gasped then moaned; water hit his shoulder and deflected into her eyes, so she grabbed his shoulders tightly and pulled herself up a little. The reaction caused by gravity—namely, the hard jerk back down—caused him to groan and shudder, and he pressed his hands into her even harder.

It didn't take very long for him to climax again, and he redoubled his efforts in helping her to reach her own. After embracing under the water for a few moments he took soap in hand again and carefully washed her, then she did the same for him. She tried not to laugh at the sight of him bowed over to wash his hair.

After the shower she handed him a fluffy pink towel which caused him to raise a brow and hold it out to pat her dry. Then he grabbed another, a white towel, and dried himself off.

"Does a pink towel threaten your masculinity or something?" she teased.

"Obviously not, as I've just demonstrated amply," he said. "It just looks much more fetching on you."

"Nice save," she said, stepping into his arms for a hug. She loved being in the warmth of his embrace, but now didn't feel that animalistic need to throw him down and ravish him. Whether this was due to lack of pheromones or plain satiation was not clear, but she still said, "Mmm, I still think I'm right."

"Honestly, when it comes down to this kind of welcome home, you can be right all you like," he said.

"Mmm," she said again. From the front of the flat they could hear the entryphone ring, so they broke apart and hastily dressed themselves again, he in the fresh clothes he'd brought. She regarded him querulously as the entryphone rang again. "So. Do you still have your five-a-side match on the weekend?"

He laughed and kissed her on the top of the head before going to let the delivery in.

_The end._


End file.
